Help
by The Nightdreamer
Summary: It was all over the news. How Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant detective, was a fraud. Dante could only sigh and wonder to himself what had happened to that bright eyed eager boy that used to be his brother. One-shot.
1. Hate

Disclaimer: I do not own Huntik or Sherlock.

Dante sighed as he looked out of the window. Everyone else in the house were celebrating, but not him. He turned slightly as he heard the news reporter reporting International News, and looked at the screen, at the detective in the deerskin cap.

He saw his team lean forward in concern at the news. "_And news reporting from London. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was named a fraud by the media, ever since his participation in making crimes purposely hard so that only he can solve it._

_"Statements from people around him seemed to have convinced them from believing him a fraud._" Dante rubbed his hand over his eyes, a gesture not missed by Zhalia.

"_However, further evidence seems to have proved this statement false._" Dante looked up, a spark lighting in his eyes. _"Although there are regrets from the media, he was proclaimed dead at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. His roommate, John Watson, has refused to give further statement. However, his landlady has provided us with a few words._"

An old looking lady appeared, looking tear stricken yet fierce at the same time. "_I know Sherlock was not a fraud. I know so, and the ones who do are wrong. Wrong!_" She broke off in sobs, and the screen ended.

"Poor lad." Cherit noted from his perch. Dante looked at his tan trench coat. It reminded him too much of…

No.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, and sighed. He couldn't hope to contain that memory. Especially not today…

_"Dante! Dante! Wait for me!" A young voice called out, high pitched and excited. The older boy turned to his younger brother. The boy was grinning like mad, his eyes shining a bright green grey. _

_"Come on, Lock! We have to hurry!" _

_The small boy squeaked in indignation as he ran to catch up, before catching up with his two older brothers. Dante was young, around 10, average, athletic with reddish brown hair. His eyes were a light brown colour, which shone as he continued to run. He had inherited, in fact, most of his father's features, though for some reason, his hair turned out reddish brown._

_His brother beside him, Mycroft, was panting hard already. _

_Not that Dante blamed him. He ate too many things for lunch. He was a slightly pudgy boy, with jet black hair styled neatly, and an umbrella always present. Well, was present, until Dante, with the help of his younger brother, dumped it into the river. He had inherited every feature from his father, including his intelligence._

_Sherlock was small for his size, but athletic none the less. His intelligence rivalled that of his two brothers, and his dark wild array of curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat as all three raced to get to the shed. He was the only child that inherited both intelligence and looks from his mother, and proved to be more of his mother's child than the other two._

_His skin was covered in bruises, cleverly hidden underneath the clothes that the boy wore. His father was always drunk, and the family had learnt a long time ago that if they didn't do anything, the father would only inflict small amount of damages upon the boy. _

He closed his eyes as he leant against the window. Even up till today, he still couldn't forgive himself.

_"Dante! You can't leave!" Dante had earned himself a scholarship at Cambridge, and everyone was urging him to take it. Mycroft was a year ahead of him, and had already entered Imperial College. But Dante was slightly delayed in going because of his younger brother. _

_"I must, Sherlock. I need to go." Now they were talking by the door, where Dante had just come in, only to be tackled by Sherlock with a barrage of questions. _

_The boy looked down. "Will you visit?"_

_Dante sighed. "Highly unlikely, Lock. I'll be too busy. Look, you can take care of yourself, right?"_

_"But he'll hurt me." He whispered in a low voice. "You know he will."_

_"Look, Sherlock, we can't always be defending you. We need to find work ourselves. Maybe one day you'll as well."_

_"I want to be a pirate!" The eager little boy looked up. Dante couldn't help but smile, but was also upset about what he was going to say. But he had to tell the truth to this young innocent boy. Dante sighed. He knew that he couldn't stop it, but seeing him loose that innocence…_

_"Sherlock, there is no such thing as pirates. If you continue on this fantasy, it'll destroy you. You can become something else." This had an instantaneous reaction. The boy froze, looking up at Dante, before backing away to the wall, mumbling to himself in something like disbelief._

_Dante remembered long ago when he had made a promise to the boy, and now he had broken it. "No. No." Dante could see the small quick pants, and how his brother was beginning to hyperventilate. "No. You promised. You promised. You promised that you would not-"_

_"Sherlock, this is different."_

_"NO!" Sherlock screamed and tugged mercilessly at his curls, sobs escaping him as he curled into a ball in the corner. Dante moved forward as if to stop the young boy, but the boy wouldn't let himself be helped. In the end, he was sedated and brought back up to his room by his father, who had spat on him as he carried Sherlock up._

* * *

_Mycroft snarled at the red-eyed boy. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was supposed to see both of his brothers off before going back to studies. "Sherlock, you can't always do that."_

_Only a sniffle._

_"God, Sherlock, if you keep on doing this, you'll result to nothing! Do you want that?" _

_Sherlock looked at Dante pleadingly, as if wanting his help, but Dante forced a cold look onto his face before shaking his head. The little boy lifted his chin defiantly. "Maybe."_

_"All this fantasising will not help you in the outside world! It's pathetic! We won't always be around!" The oldest brother exploded in a rage._

_Sherlock's lip trembled, but he did not cry. "I don't want you to be around." Dante felt proud of him, but forced the look to remain, before turning away. He turned back only slightly, seeing Sherlock run back up the steps to his room, sobs escaping him, before the door to his room slammed shut. _

_Their mother called after him, ran after him, distressed. "Sherlock! Sherlock, darling!"_

_Their father, on the other hand, showed indifference, before nodding to both young men. "Make sure you study hard." Both nodded, before exiting to get prepared._

* * *

_Dante heard someone screaming from behind them, and turned around. After Sherlock's breakdown, they had had lunch, but Sherlock was not invited, since, according to their father, he 'destroyed special occasions for the family'._

_Now, both were in the car, ready to leave, and both turned at the scream, seeing Sherlock scramble from his second story bedroom window and land hard on the floor. No matter how much they wanted to, they couldn't stop their father from giving Sherlock a slap. _

_Sherlock tugged himself away, and tan after the car, but soon had to stop. "You promised!" He shrieked behind them. Dante could only stare ahead. His last few words before they turned the corner into the main street stuck forever in his head. _

_"I hate you! I'll never ask for your help again!" _

Dante sighed, rubbing his eyes again. Out of all of them, he had thought Mycroft the most sensible, but he was wrong. Mycroft was the down bringing of his younger brother, and so was Dante.

He received the letter a few days ago.

_You are cordially invited to attend the funeral of Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes._

The words still rang in Dante's ears. He couldn't believe it.

Sherlock could have come to him for help, like he had always had done, but he didn't. He didn't want Dante or Mycroft around. He pushed them away every time they tried to make up for that time.

He watched as rain started splashing on the window.

Seems the perfect weather to reflect his mood.

Because Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes, his younger brother, the bright eyed boy who had wanted to become a pirate, was dead. He had died a long time ago, in fact, but this time it was more real.

Suddenly, Dante turned as there was a knock on the door. Lok went to answer it, and frowned apologetically with something of shock at the man. "Um, sorry?"

"I'm looking for Dante Holmes." The rich silky baritone drew Dante to the door. The Public English School accent. Holmes. A name he hadn't used in a long time.

"Uh, there's a Dante Vale, but no Holmes. Who are you?"

Dante was already at the door. He took in the appearance of the visitor and froze. With his dark curls plastered to his head with the rain, the tall and lean yet athletic figure, the high cheekbones, the pale skin, the grey green eyes. A name, uttered in shock, escaped his lips.

"Sherlock."

* * *

**AN: My first try at a Sherlock crossover, though not for Dante. Characters may be a bit OOC. Review, please!**


	2. Help

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Huntik: Secrets and Seekers.

**AN: Changed my mind. Now a two-shot. Hope you enjoy this!**

Dante stared at who he had previously thought was his dead younger brother. "Sherlock." He murmured again, not able to believe his eyes.

Sherlock looked at him coldly, no expression visible in his eyes, but he nodded at him. "Dante."

Meanwhile, Lok, Sophie, Zhalia and Cherit were looking at him cautiously.

"May I come in?" Somehow, on Sherlock's lips, it seemed more of a statement than a question. Zhalia frowned at Sherlock as Dante nodded mutely and let him in.

She examined him closely, noting that he was, in definition, attractive. His dark hair was plastered to his head, yet a stray curl was dropping in front of his face. His hair was long and in desperate need of a haircut, but he seemed not to care. His skin was pale, also probably because of standing outside in the cold, which made his high cheekbones seem more prominent. Sherlock was wearing a long dark coat, one not too unlike Dante's, yet he was wearing a hoodie and some jeans underneath it.

However, that was not what grabbed her attention. What grabbed her attention was his eyes. If she had to pick a colour to describe them, she would have used the word 'Glasz'. Currently, after just having been in the rain, his eyes were a stormy grey with hints of blue and green mixed in it. They seemed to pierce everything, taking everything in, and not missing a single detail. His eyes swept over her, and she frowned, crossing her arms.

He then proceeded to scan Lok and Sophie, who didn't seem as confident as she did, but who would actually blame them?

Sherlock looked intimidating, and after having just come from out in the rain, he looked even more so. Dante eyed him, and then gestured upstairs. "Shower and change. You brought spare clothes?" He gestured to the bag that Sherlock had been carrying. It was small, but large enough to stuff a set of clothes.

The man nodded, and then went upstairs, leaving Dante's team gaping at him when he did.

"Dante, who was that?" Sophie asked as she looked up the stairs, where Sherlock had vanished.

Dante sighed and closed the door before sitting down and rubbing his hands over his eyes. The others followed, sitting down and facing him. "Sherlock Holmes,"

"Wait. The one who died?" Lok asked incredulously. "Because he looked _pretty_ dead to me in the News report." Another sigh, and Lok backed away sheepishly. "Sorry."

Dante shook his head. "No. It's fine. Sherlock is a Consulting Detective, which is like a Private Detective, but more. People and the Police _go_ to him for help."

"But how could he leave his friends crying over him?" Sophie demanded.

Dante frowned. "I don't know yet. Mycroft hasn't told me anything yet. The only thing I received was this." He held up the invitation, where the words: _Sherlock Holmes' Funeral_ were still visible. Lok swallowed.

"So you mean that he _isn't_ dead? And who the heck is Mycroft?"

Sophie rolled her eyes, but seemed just as confused.

Dante nodded. "Mycroft is our older brother. He's...more into politics than Sherlock and I. Don't ask me how. I don't know."

And there they sat in silence, before Cherit interrupted the silence. "So he knows about Titans and Seekers, no?"

Another nod. "Yes. He does."

"And does Mycroft?"

Dante sighed. "No. Sherlock and I know about it, though. Our mother was a Seeker. Our father was normal. Mycroft always took after father."

Cherit seemed to take this as an answer even as Lok piped up. "What Titans does he have?"

A frown. Dante considered carefully. "I'm not quite sure. He lost the Titan he first got, and then he left to London. I don't know anything else then. I'm not even sure how Mycroft doesn't know about it."

There was a snort from behind them as Sherlock Holmes came down the stairs. "Because he's a fat pompous git." The words were spat with menace.

Dante examined his brother critically. Sherlock looked thin, too thin. His bones were prominent underneath the shirt he wore. His hair was dry, which was odd considering that none of them had heard the sound of the hair-dryer, but Sherlock always had an odd way to do things. His curls were long, yes, but getting to the point of too long.

"Does Mycroft know?" Was the first thing that Dante asked Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head coldly.

"No. And you are not going to tell him, either."

Zhalia frowned at the statement. The way that Sherlock said it...it was as if Sherlock was the older one. He was certainly taller, that was one thing, as he towered over them, his figure casting a shadow over the room.

Dante sighed. "What do you need?"

Sherlock licked his lips, which were surprisingly dry and cracked, considering he had just been in a shower. "I need a place to stay for the weekend."

"Don't you have a place to go to?" Dante asked, eyebrow raised.

Sherlock scowled. "Moriarty's network is stronger than I anticipated. Moran is determined to hunt me down."

"So you're staying here for another 4 days..." Dante trailed off as his brother interrupted him impatiently.

"And then you can get rid of me, yes."

Dante raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Lok cleared his throat, almost interceptibly, but he then became the object of Sherlock's scrutiny. Dante nodded at Lok. "That's Lok Lambert, Sophie Casterwill, Zhalia Moon, and Cherit."

Cherit was thoroughly examined by Sherlock, whose eyes pierced him. The Titan backed away slightly, feeling intimidated, while Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Didn't you die?" Sophie demanded.

Dante winced. _Ouch_. Sherlock tensed for a moment. "Problem back in London. Don't you watch the news?" Lok nodded in answer to Sherlock's sharp yet silky baritone.

"But how do you live?"

Sherlock snorted. "Easy. Homeless Network."

"Sorry?" Lok frowned. "Homeless what?"

"Homeless Network. Works much faster than the police."

Lok frowned for five seconds, before speaking again, his voice excited this time. "What Titans do you have?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Dante, as Dante frowned, though bemused, at the young Seeker. "Why do you want to know?"

"Do you have the same Titans as Dante?"

_Double ouch_. Dante flinched, almost discreetly. This was a touchy subject. After he and Mycroft had left the Holmes Manor for University, and Sherlock had swore never to look up to them again, this subject was both a surprising and painful subject to discuss. "No." Sherlock's tone was flat.

"Are you a psychopath?" This one had all of them glaring at Lok as he shrunk back slightly at the intensity of their glares.

Sherlock seemed amused, however. "No. High-Functioning Sociopath."

Lok frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means I am not a Psychopath." His answer was blunt.

"What Titan do you have?"

"Titan_s_." Sherlock corrected automatically, and Lok blushed.

"Sorry."

"Cordial." Was the only word that Sherlock gave Lok.

Sophie was the one to ask. "Sorry, what?"

"Cordial. My Titan." Sherlock said simply. "And, no. I don't need an amulet."

Sophie frowned, her mouth halfway open. Zhalia smirked as Sophie shut her mouth, looking bashful.

"So you come here and expect Dante to take you in?" Zhalia questioned. Sherlock nodded. "Why?"

"Because he owes me."

Dante didn't have any reaction to that, though inside, he was anxious. He remembered what Sherlock had screamed at him as they had left, and how he had ignored them as they returned, only speaking to them out of necessity.

Sherlock didn't say anything else, only let out a hum, and then close his eyes, and proceeded to ignore everyone in the room. After a few minutes of silence, Lok spoke in a low voice, almsot scared if Sherlock would overhear. "What's he doing?" He received shrugs from Sophie and Cherit, but Zhalia was frowning at him.

Dante sighed. "Mind Palace."

"Mind what?" Sophie asked, frowning.

"Method of Loci." Dante said, not taking his eyes off Sherlock as Sherlock waved his hands in front of him, as if organising something. "Method of remembering things in order if there was any need to. You plant a memory in a location, so-"

"So that no matter what, you could never forget it." Sophie interrupted. "I read about that."

Dante nodded, while Cherit eyed Sherlock anxiously. "You think he'll be okay?"

A confident nod from Dante reassured them all.

* * *

The first day went on uneventfully, with the team struggling to get used to the blunt and seemingly insensitive way that Sherlock would speak about things.

Scarlett and Montehue visited that day, and were, to be frank, appalled at him, but, surprisingly enough, got over it quite quickly. They went down to investigate something, with Sherlock following, having been shouting 'BORED!' over and over again in his room, where it was still audible downstairs.

That was also the day that the team, along with Scarlett and Montehue, managed to see how Cordial looked like.

Cordial was more like a Panther, than anything, and happened to be able to change into different animals, not having a solid form. Sophie and Lok were the ones that were excitedly watching as Sherlock summoned his Titan without an amulet, only with the name itself.

After that, Sherlock had also displayed being able to take care of himself in a fight, with skills not unlike Dante's.

When they returned home, with Scarlett and Montehue taking another route and returning to the airport for another mission, Sherlock made a beeline to his room and stayed there. However, the noises there made the rest know that he wasn't asleep.

Sherlock somehow found about a violin in the attic, and all of them woke up in the morning to hear the welcoming voice of the violin as it drifted from Sherlock's room. When asked about this, Sherlock had only replied that he had left his Stradivarius in London.

* * *

That day had been mostly peaceful.

Sophie and Lok peppered him with questions, and then had him watch over a sudoku match between both of them, and then had him train with them. Dante watched the whole thing, amused, as they also practically forced food down his throat, doing what Dante and Mycroft had done when Sherlock was younger.

Sherlock seemed bothered by it, but also amused.

He and Zhalia spoke about a word every 2 hours, getting along alright, not surprising to Dante.

The Consulting Detective also seemed amused by Cherit, who also asked him many questions. Dante presumed that he softened a bit over the years, having known that Sherlock would have originally snapped at them and lost his temper.

He supposed that John Watson was also partly responsible for this.

He was thankful, though, as Sherlock ate something without being prompted to during dinner.

However, Dante noticed the looks that Zhalia was giving Sherlock; a sort of suspicious look, like she couldn't decide whether to like him or just hate him.

That night, all of them had gone to bed listening to Sherlock playing on the violin.

The next morning, he was gone, leaving only a text for Dante to explain his disappearance.

_Thank you. Needed to leave earlier than planned - SH_

* * *

Two years later, it was all over the news that Sherlock Holmes was back in London.


End file.
